


We F****d Up Souls

by sabby1



Series: Sins and Consequence [1]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types
Genre: Biting, Blood, Canon Universe, Episode Related, Frottage, M/M, Mindwiping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-25 12:08:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19745464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabby1/pseuds/sabby1
Summary: A few nights after Max's Rune ceremony, Simon follows Isabelle Lightwood to find out why she's been acting weird. Things rapidly deteriorate.~~Isabelle took a few steps back, teetering on her deadly designer heels, and Simon swore her fingers were trembling around the whip. He was still ready to expose himself and step into her line of sight when the next unbelievable thing happened.Raphael Santiago swooshed out of the shadows and stopped right behind Izzy.“I thought I told you not to come here again,” he said.





	We F****d Up Souls

**Author's Note:**

> My mind goes places *shrugs*. 
> 
> This fits snugly between episodes "Love is a Devil" and "Bound by Blood". No infringement intended, just having a bit of dark fun with the characters. If blood squicks you out, please don't read this.
> 
> I also experimented a little with POV shift between characters in this piece. Feel free to drop me a note if you thought it worked/felt weird/whatever.
> 
> Feedback is always appreciated.
> 
> PS: This story has a sequel now: [Forgive me, Father ...](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19852942)

Simon hadn’t meant to follow her. It had happened accidentally, really. It wasn’t like he was stalking Isabelle Lightwood; he just needed to make sure she was all right.

Between Clary telling him how weird Izzy had been acting lately, and how she’d brushed Clary off at the party for Max’s Rune Ceremony a few nights ago, and now here she was, skulking around the Downworlder bars a couple of blocks from the Hotel DuMort by herself, things were just fitting together a bit uncomfortably, that was all.

Simon had to wonder what normal people pillow talk was like. What did people talk about between make-out sessions when their lives weren’t all tangled up with Downworlders and Shadowhunters, soul swords and magical mindfucks? He really wished he knew.

Instead, he got to follow Isabelle Lightwood down a dark, dirty alley between two tall brownstone buildings in Harlem, not sure what made him more nervous: the fact that he was stalking a Shadowhunter or that said Shadowhunter seemed to have no clue she was being followed by a vampire.

His confusion only grew when he watched her walk up to some shady warlock with ‘90s grunge nostalgia who was loitering by the fire exit door of the building that backed up into the alley.

Simon ducked behind a couple of half-empty dumpsters slathered in graffiti and watched the two try to make some sort of deal. The warlock got a little too handsy for Simon’s comfort, and he was about a second away from throwing caution to the wind and getting between them, when Izzy flicked her wrist and cracked her magical whip, forcing the warlock to raise his wandering hands and back away from her.

“Never mind,” she snapped loudly. “Go fuck yourself.”

Isabelle took a few steps back, teetering on her deadly designer heels, and Simon swore her fingers were trembling around the whip. He was still ready to expose himself and step into her line of sight when the next unbelievable thing happened.

Raphael Santiago swooshed out of the shadows and stopped right behind Izzy.

“I thought I told you not to come here again,” he said.

Except, Raphael never just “said” anything. He casually spilled words from his mouth in a husky, rumbling growl that no mortal guy would be able to sustain for any length of time without having to suck on insane amounts of lozenges.

Simon shook his head to clear out the unwelcome fanboy cobwebs and strained his vampire hearing to make out what the two were talking about on the other end of the alley.

“I know. I’m sorry.” Izzy didn’t sound like herself. “I just need one more. We’re getting close to Valentine. As soon as that’s over, I promise I’ll get clean, I just need--”

Raphael raised his hand, holding up his index finger to stop her from talking.

“Come out, Simon. I know you’re here.”

Shit.

Simon mouthed the word between gritted teeth and stepped out from behind the dumpsters.

“I wasn’t eavesdropping. I was just—" He cut himself off before he could blurt out everything like a total moron, licked his lips nervously, and waved his hand in a feeble greeting. “Hi.”

Isabelle looked tormented. She rubbed her first knuckle across the bridge of her delicate nose and glared past Raphael’s broad shoulders at Simon.

“What are you doing here?” Her voice cracked with annoyance.

“Nothing,” he said quickly, shaking his head, completely aware that his whole body was giving him away, arms and shoulders spasming in jerky motions of discomfort at being caught. “Nothing. Just … checking? On you. Trying to make sure you’re okay. Which, you are, clearly. Okay. So, I’ll just … go?”

He did not want to get between Raphael Santiago and Isabelle Lightwood. He did not want to know why there even was a “between Raphael and Isabelle” to get. There shouldn’t be, but there obviously was, and it was none of his business. Best to get the hell out of there before he got sucked in.

“Bye.”

He turned on his heel and started to retreat in hasty steps, but he’d taken no more than three when Raphael’s voice froze him in place.

“Stop. Come back here.”

Simon dropped his head and turned around as slowly as possible. “Do I have to?”

Minutes later they were inside the Hotel DuMort, in Raphael’s private suite on the top floor.

Raphael all but dropped Isabelle onto the post-modern red monstrosity he called a couch. She curled up with her slender limbs pulled tightly to her body, shivering. Her long black hair hung in limp strands around her face, making her look gaunt and sickly.

“Raphael, please.”

She didn’t even seem to be aware of what she was doing or the fact that she looked like a junkie aching for a fix.

“What the hell is going on here?” Simon hissed quietly.

Confusion and anger scratched out his fear as he confronted Raphael on the other side of the marble kitchen counter, silently cursing the open floorplan of the penthouse. This was the kind of conversation any decent family had behind closed doors.

“Aldertree got her hooked on Yin Fen,” Raphael said coldly.

“What?” Simon had never heard of anything called Yin Fen, but the words “hooked on” and the way Izzy was acting made it pretty clear what had happened to her. “How, when?”

Raphael graced Simon with a look that was a strange mixture of indulgent and impatient.

“He gave it to her to deal with some kind of injury. She wouldn’t tell me any details, but it happened a while ago.”

Simon’s mind struggled to absorb the information. It was hard to imagine a Shadowhunter succumbing to something as mundane as addiction. These people had a rune for everything.

A memory from the night of his terrible first and last date with Maia flashed behind his eyes.

Isabelle hadn’t been kidding when she had offered him her blood to “cure” his anxiety. If he hadn’t reacted the way he had, she would have let him bite her. 

“We need to tell Alec. There’s got to be something they can do. Maybe a special rune?”

His eyes strayed to Isabelle shivering through withdrawal on the couch. An overwhelming sense of rage exploded in his stomach as his fangs burst through his gums.

“Aldertree’s gonna pay for this.”

Victor Aldertree had been nothing but a raging dick from the moment he’d introduced himself as the new Head of the New York Institute, throwing out Luke and Simon upon arrival and then turning around to blackmail Simon into working for him. 

Raphael narrowed his eyes. “Starting a war with the Clave is not on my agenda, especially since I just got them off my back after your last interaction with the man.”

His tone was deceptively calm as he dropped the not-so-subtle reminder that Simon’s runaway mouth had put Raphael and the entire New York clan of vampires on the hook for Camille’s illicit vampire dens very recently. 

If it wasn’t for Izzy, curled up in pain less than ten feet away, the intimidation tactic would have worked. Simon’s fangs retreated, but he squared his jaw and straightened his back, fighting the impulse to relent.

“Then what? We’re just going to let her keep chasing her next fix until some shifty warlock gets the best of her?”

“Of course not.”

“Then what?” Simon repeated, putting more emphasis on the words, demanding an answer.

Raphael looked pained. He turned his gaze from Simon to Isabelle, watching her with a pinched scowl.

“I’ve been trying to get her to go cold turkey, but she’s…” He clenched his teeth and sucked in a breath.

Simon continued to glare at Raphael, keeping the pressure on.

“Simon?”

Isabelle’s plaintive call from the couch pulled on him like a leash around his neck. Simon was well on his way to kneeling in front of the couch before he realized what he was doing.

“I’m here, Isabelle.” He kept his voice quiet and soft, like talking to his mom when she had a migraine. “What do you need?”

“C-cold.” She shivered and curled up tighter. Goosebumps flared up all over her pale skin, giving the dark runes carved into her arms and chest an odd texture. Not that he was staring at her chest. It was just that the Angelic Power rune was right there, nestled between her breasts, like, what had she been thinking, drawing it there of all places?

Simon whipped his head around to look intently at the flower arrangement on the glass coffee table.

“Raphael, can you get her a blanket? She’s freezing.”

He barely looked at the older vampire when he accepted a blanket made from some ridiculously soft wool. Simon tucked Izzy in from chin to toes, turning her into a tightly wrapped burrito like he used to do for his sister when she brought home some flu from college and spontaneously reverted to a whiny five-year-old with insatiable attention needs.

He pressed a kiss to her clammy forehead before he thought about the fact that this was not Rebecca, and Isabelle Lightwood wasn’t sick, she was jonesing for a fix. She still grasped after his hand exactly like Becky would when he got up and walked away from her to continue his conversation with Raphael.

“So, what exactly is this Yin Fen stuff? And how did you get mixed up in all this?”

Raphael’s lip curled. When he jutted his chin out and gave Simon an arch look, it suddenly hit home that he was mouthing off to a much older, very powerful vampire who could bring an entire clan down on Simon’s head with a snap of his manicured fingers.

Simon gulped and held his ground, despite the fact that he could feel his hands tremble inside the back pockets of his jeans; his toes curled inside his sneakers, fighting the urge to run away at the top of his vamp speed.

Raphael took a deep breath. Something in his eyes changed, making the dark brown irises gleam in the overhead light.

Simon knew guilt like the back of his hand, so it was really easy to recognize. He waited, knowing he would get his answer if he just kept his mouth shut. For good measure, he bit down on the inside of his cheeks, with his human teeth, just hard enough to keep from blurting out any unnecessary quips.

“I caught her a few days ago,” Raphael said, and his suave growl wavered just that little bit. “Trying to talk some vamps into biting her.”

Simon bit down harder. He would not burst out with questions. Raphael would get there in his own time.

“Yin Fen,” he explained, “is made with diluted vampire venom. The stuff she was using was in salve form, so it’s not as bad as it could have been, but she must have been using it for a while.” Raphael licked his lips, eyes glued to the shivering form of Isabelle on the couch. “I chased them off.”

Simon clenched his fists inside the back pockets of his jeans and forced himself to take a few calming breaths through his nose. If that had happened several days ago, why the hell was Isabelle still like this?

“This is my fault.” Raphael’s guilt seemed to grow in a substantial order of magnitude as he watched Isabelle writhe in pain. “I bit her.”

“Simon?” Isabelle was reaching out toward them from the couch, half delirious, the blanket tangled around her legs. “Raphael, please!”

Simon’s eyes were about as big as they could get. The only thing keeping him from gaping like a fish were his own teeth clamping down on the inside of his cheeks. He tasted cold copper when he swallowed.

Raphael took a step toward the couch, but Simon raised his hand to ward him off and, incredibly, it worked. The powerful vampire in the tailored suit yielded to the teenage fledgling in jeans and sneakers.

Simon left him where he was and returned to kneeling in front of Isabelle.

“It’s okay, Izzy. I’m here. I’ll take care of you, okay?” He brushed the sweaty hair from her face. Her forehead was clammy, but her whole body was flushed, burning up with an unnatural fever. “Do you want some water? I’ll get you some. Maybe some chicken soup? My mom has this surefire recipe, I can probably cobble it together.”

“No, I need Raphael. Please.”

“No, Izzy. No. That’s no good. It’s just going to make it worse.”

“Please.”

“No, Isabelle,” he repeated firmly. “This stops now.”

“But I need it.” Something in her tone raised the hair on the back of Simon’s neck. “And I’m going to have it.”

She slashed her nails across her collarbone, gouging deep enough to draw blood. Simon’s fangs dropped and he started to shake with indomitable hunger.

“Simon, no!”

Raphael’s hoarse shout barely penetrated the roaring in Simon’s ears as Izzy’s fingers snarled through his hair and yanked him down. His face buried in soft skin, the intoxicating taste of Shadowhunter blood smeared across his lips.

Like nothing he’d ever experienced.

This wasn’t the tangy taste of Camilla’s blood or the stale copper pennies of feeder rats and blood bags. This was thick sweet syrup spiced with cinnamon and chili, burning a trail down his throat, scorching through his veins, and setting his brain on fire.

He wanted more. Much more. All of it.

His fangs sank into her chest, and they both moaned like dying things as the first heavy gush filled his mouth.

Punishing hands clamped around his shoulders and tried to pry him away. Simon twisted his body and threw them off.

Glass shattered. Wood splintered. A body hit the floor.

Before Simon could blink, cold fingers closed like a shackle around his throat and he was face to face with deadly fangs grinding together in a tightly clenched jaw.

“Stop.” 

Simon could barely decipher the snarl as a coherent word. He shook, sucking in fast, shallow breaths as he stared into Raphael’s furious eyes.

“Think.”

Jumbled thoughts crashed through his mind as reality asserted itself through the heady fog of his blood induced high.

He was in the penthouse of Raphael Santiago, leader of the New York vampire clan, feeding on Isabelle Lightwood, Shadowhunter, like some random vamp groupie. The Clave would kill them in a heartbeat if they knew. Worse, Clary would never forgive him.

Shit, Clary. He had just finally worked up the courage to confess his feelings and, incredibly, she had accepted them. If she ever found out, she would drop him like the filthy, disgusting thing he was. No matter how close they were, she would never understand. How could she? She had never felt this kind of hunger, this raw need for something as addictive as heroine but as essential as food and water.

Simon licked his lips nervously. 

The taste of Isabelle’s blood hit his senses all over again, and his eyes closed on their own volition.

Clary might never understand, but he knew someone who did. There was a reason they were here right now instead of some 24-hour diner down the street.

Simon slowly brought up his hand and closed it gently around Raphael’s wrist, not trying to pull him away, just lightly resting it there, his thumb brushing over the sensitive pulse point.

“She needs us,” he said quietly, in a voice that came out much more like a seductive purr than he’d ever thought he was capable of.

“No.”

Raphael tried to pull away, but Simon held fast, his fingers wrapped as tightly around Raphael’s wrist as Raphael’s had been clamped around his throat just a moment ago.

“Yes,” he hissed. “Look at her.”

It was wrong, and Simon knew it was wrong, but he didn’t care. He wanted this, wanted Raphael to be a part of it so it would be their secret. Maybe this could even get him back into the hotel, out of the boathouse where the werewolves didn’t want him any more than in their den inside the Jade Wolf.

Raphael averted his eyes and reluctantly followed Simon’s gaze to look at Izzy.

She was sprawled across the couch with an angelic smile on her face. Her skin was a radiant shade of pale where it wasn’t stained bright red with her own blood, and her long, charcoal locks spilled over her shoulders to curl around the swell of her breasts - like a decadent version of Snow White. 

Raphael muttered something under his breath too quickly for Simon to catch and shook his head.

“I can’t,” he croaked.

It wasn’t a hard no, and Simon knew he’d almost won.

“Yes,” he said, nodding, “yes, you can.”

He knew if he could just get Raphael to taste her blood, they could all stop feeling guilty and just give in to the thing they all wanted. Too bad it didn’t look like Raphael was ready to take that last step by himself. Despite the fact that his fangs hadn’t retreated since he’d grabbed Simon by the throat, he was still holding back, still keeping himself under control, still keeping Simon between himself and the glistening, fragrant Shadowhunter blood beckoning on Izzy’s chest.

Simon licked his lips again and groaned at the taste. Through heavy-lidded eyes, he saw Raphael stare at his mouth and swallow reflexively.

Simon didn’t think about it. He fell forward and crashed his mouth against Raphael’s, deliberately messy, smearing the remnants of Izzy’s blood between their lips as he pushed his tongue inside Raphael’s mouth.

Raphael froze. Time stopped for a perfect moment as the taste of Shadowhunter blood mingled with the taste of Simon and forced its way into his system. As if someone had thrown a switch, the lights came on in every part of his body.

He jerked back, breath stalled, eyes wide, feeling everything he was never supposed to feel: everything wrong and sinful that guaranteed perdition if ever there came a day he walked into the sun.

“I’m not like that.” The denial tumbled from his lips as easily as the prayers he had memorized when he had been nothing but a child.

If his heart could still beat, it would be hammering inside his chest. Alas, there was nothing but the cold, dark hollow of realization as he stared at Simon -- Simon of all people. Yet, deep down, Raphael was not entirely surprised it would be Simon’s heedless mouth that condemned them both to hell with a casual “oops”.

“No offense,” Simon purred in the drug-induced timbre of absolute confidence, “I think you are.”

Only then did Raphael notice his fist clenched around Simon’s shirt. He tried to pull away, to put more distance between them, to think his way out of this. When Simon moved toward him, Raphael opened his mouth to protest, but nothing came out except a ragged breath before Simon’s tongue pushed back inside, and the taste was so sweet, so heady it drowned out everything. Raphael would gladly accept the punishment later if he could only have a little more of this now.

Holy Mary forgive him, he only wanted a little more.

Whither Simon went, he blindly followed, consumed by the damning light that flared into every corner of his soul.

When Simon released him, Raphael was on his knees in front of Isabelle, her blood beckoning him from the gaping wounds across her chest. Simon’s fangs had torn a gash through the left wing of the Enkeli rune in the valley between her breasts.

Raphael squeezed his eyes shut, turned his head, and struggled to resist the temptation. He had to force his words through tightly clenched fangs. “Not like this.”

“It’s fine, Raphael,” Isabelle crooned in his ear. “We’re all fine.”

A long, tapered finger brushed across his lips, leaving in its wake the subtle pressure of hot, viscous liquid. The scent of Shadowhunter blood licked at his nose.

“It’ll be our little secret,” she promised.

He pressed his lips together in an effort to regain control, but the action betrayed him. Isabelle’s blood burst on the tip of his tongue.

The fiery brand of her palm on his cheek was the last straw. He grabbed her wrist, turned his head, and sank his fangs into her delicate veins.

Even as the first gush of blissful heat surged through his body, bloody tears of regret leaked between his tightly closed lashes. His mind was drowning and prayer bubbled to the surface like muscle memory – pray for us sinners, now and in the hour of our death.

A loud, broken cry tore through the litany.

Raphael’s eyes snapped open, and he looked up through a thin red haze. 

Simon had nestled himself behind Isabelle and buried his face in her neck. Isabelle’s hand limply cradled the back of his head, holding him in place as Simon drained her straight from the carotid artery. Her eyes rolled back and she cried out another broken noise of ecstasy, arching into the muscular arm that kept her pressed tightly against Simon’s chest.

Stupid, reckless idiots.

A string of curses rattled over Raphael’s tongue as he pulled himself close enough to yank on Simon’s arm.

“Slow down,” he croaked.

Simon was too young, too inexperienced. He had crawled out of the grave into this life less than a month ago, and his self-control was tenuous at the best of times.

“Come here.”

If Raphael didn’t do something to control Simon’s feeding frenzy, the reckless boy would drain Isabelle dry, and the stupid girl would let him because she was too damn high on vampire venom to say no.

Simon fought him, but Raphael persisted, drawing on the extra strength from the Shadowhunter blood in his system to pry Simon’s arm away from Isabelle’s chest and drag him out from behind her.

Simon slid over Isabelle’s hip and dropped in a boneless heap on top of Raphael. His eyes looked glassy; the void of his pupils nearly swallowed the warm brown of his irises.

“More.”

Lord above, Simon Lewis was going to be the death of him. Another one of Camille’s messes for which Raphael would pay the price.

He rolled his eyes, pulled Simon close by a fistful of his unkempt dark hair, and tried to ignore the sensations the velvety strands between his fingers elicited in parts of his body he had very little control over at the moment.

Simon’s face was drenched in Isabelle’s blood, his features obscured by the thick, red film across his mouth and cheeks.

Raphael sneered. “Messy.”

Every instinct screamed at him to lap up that precious blood and claim the mouth that had spilled it. Some long-forgotten scrap of Shakespeare nipped at the back of his mind. He leaned closer, enthralled by those soft, bloodstained lips.

Simon jolted.

Raphael felt the pull on the thick curls between his fingers. He saw the frozen expression on Simon’s wide-eyed face, pupils dilated as far as they could be. He smelled the anxiety submerged in the blood.

Shame slithered, oily and cold, down Raphael’s spine. He turned his head.

Knowing the risk, he still offered his own throat.

Simon hesitated.

“Take it.” Raphael reinforced his order with a sharp tug on Simon’s hair. 

The bite was excruciating.

Raphael hadn’t felt fangs at his throat in decades, never allowing anyone to get that close. Without the benefit of the vampire venom’s intoxicating effect, Simon’s attack felt like having his head torn off by a werewolf. The only thing that dulled the edge was Isabelle’s Shadowhunter blood coursing through his veins.

Raphael’s warning hiss choked on a strangled snarl when Simon threw his arms around him and held on tightly enough to crack a rib.

The boy was mindlessly gorging himself, but it was nothing Raphael didn’t deserve. The faces of strangers flashed behind his eyes, long forgotten victims who had been unlucky enough to cross Raphael’s path when he was only a newborn vampire without control.

“Enough,” he croaked.

Simon didn’t budge. His cold tongue lashed across the open wound on Raphael’s throat, making him shiver. He struggled inside the arms that trapped him; Simon’s weight on his lap kept him pinned to the floor.

“Enough!”

Raphael yanked at the hair between his fingers and ripped Simon away from his neck, tearing out a chunk of his skin in the process.

“Shit, Raphael, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to-- Are you okay?”

Simon’s voice sounded distant; his words were barely distinguishable over the white noise in Raphael’s ears. His vision was swimming, the room tilted at an unnatural angle, and he was starving, dizzy, about half a minute from passing out.

“Get me to the blood safe.”

Vertigo nearly did him in when Simon hauled him to his feet and tried to pull him in every direction at once. Raphael could feel himself slipping into unconsciousness.

“Simon, what did you do?” Isabelle sounded frantic. “Raphael? Raphael, stay with us.”

The sharp sting of a slap across his cheek brought him back long enough to mutter the sequence of numbers necessary to open the safe behind the painting.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Izzy shrieked as she punched the numbers into the silver keypad.

She barely waited for the painting to reveal the first row of chilled blood bags before she started to pull out handfuls of them.

“I wasn’t. I couldn’t. I didn’t mean to. God, Izzy, you have to help me, please. I can’t--” Simon stopped, eyes wide. “God. God. God damnit. Fuck. I can say God. Please don’t say that means I killed Raphael. I’ll never say God again if that means I didn’t kill him. Izzy, please, help him. I can’t--”

“Shut up!” she barked. “Put him down. Gently!”

She sounded certain and in control, even though she really wasn’t. Simon didn’t seem to notice at least, and her hands were steady as she pulled off the cap on the first bag and shoved it between Raphael’s lips.

“Come on, drink,” she said urgently. 

This whole situation was so fucked up. She’d never meant for things to spin out of control. If it wasn’t for Simon, this never would have happened.

No. No, she did not get to put this on Simon. She was the one who’d gone all crazy bitch on him and practically forced him to drink her blood in the first place.

What the fuck had she been thinking? Simon was barely out of his baby-shoes in vampire terms, of course he couldn’t control himself, and Raphael – stupid, sweet, chivalrous Raphael – had offered himself as a sacrificial lamb to protect Izzy from her own stupidity.

She tried to force the blood down Raphael’s throat, massaging the muscles at his neck to make him swallow.

“Oh, no. No, no, no, no. This can’t happen.”

Most of the blood she pumped into his mouth spurted right back out from the severe wound in Raphael’s neck, staining her fingers dark red.

“No.”

She took quick inventory of herself and her surroundings. Her dress was too unwieldy; bra and panties, too flimsy; the blanket on the couch, too big; Simon’s jeans, too long; Simon’s shirt …

“Your shirt! Give it to me.”

“What?”

“Now, Simon.”

He whipped the bloody shirt over his head and handed it to her, then scrambled back as soon as she’d grabbed it.

Izzy ignored the tears on her face and wrapped the soft, messy fabric around Raphael’s throat.

“Please, work, please.”

She tied a knot and put her hand around Raphael’s throat, applying pressure before she picked up the next blood pack. Her free hand fought in vain with the stubborn cap.

“Simon.” She did not recognize her own voice. “You have two choices, and neither one is easy. You can either keep pressure on his throat while I feed him the bags, or you can open the bags and feed him while I apply pressure. Which one is it going to be?”

Simon had scrambled as far away from them as the room allowed, hunched against the wall with his knees drawn tightly to his chest and his arms wrapped around his ankles. He was shaking his head no as if he didn’t know how to stop.

“Izzy, I can’t… You don’t get it. It’s blood. So much blood, and I’m still… I can still feel it. I still want it. If I get close, if I don’t stay back here--”

“If you stay back there, Raphael dies, and I’m not going to let that happen. Now choose: bags or throat?”

Simon didn’t move.

“Simon, bags or throat!”

“I cuh-- I can’t, I-- Throat! Throat.”

The words came out like she’d physically yanked them from him, but Simon finally crawled over and replaced her hand on Raphael’s throat. He looked wrecked.

“Just keep the pressure,” she said coldly.

If Raphael was a Shadowhunter or if the angel cared at all, she would have been able to draw a healing rune to close the wound. Unfortunately, that was not the case. Drawing any rune on Raphael would kill him, so she was reduced to prayer and stubborn determination. It would have to be enough. 

“Come on.”

She muttered that same phrase over and over again for heaven knew how long as she forced pack after pack of blood down Raphael’s throat. Simon’s shirt was completely soaked, but Simon’s fingers remained pressed around Raphael’s throat, his body frozen with a thousand-yard stare on his bloody face.

The choked cough just before Raphael’s eyes shot open was the best sound Isabelle had ever heard. When his fingers closed around hers on the blood pack, she sobbed in relief. If it wasn’t for the fact that she was utterly exhausted and Simon still had his hand around Raphael’s neck, she would have thrown herself on top of him.

“Thank the angel!”

Raphael sucked down another pack of blood before he pulled himself into a sitting position.

“You can let go of me now.”

Simon snatched his hand back as if he’d touched sunlight. His eyes were glued to an empty spot on the floor between him and Raphael, and his throat worked as if he was trying to bring himself to say something.

“Don’t blame Simon,” she said quickly, trying to fix what she had broken. “It was my fault. I never should have let him drink my blood. He wasn’t ready.”

“Izzy, don’t,” Simon whispered.

“He never meant to hurt you.” She plowed on stubbornly. “It was a bad call. I should have waited for you. I was impatient. It won’t happen again.”

Raphael stared her down. He didn’t say a word. It was killing her. Then he purposely, slowly turned his head to look at Simon and pulled the bloody shirt from his neck.

“Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

Simon didn’t respond. He sat hunched over with his head hung low. His chin and throat were drenched from feeding on Isabelle, his chest speckled with blood where it had soaked through his t-shirt earlier. His tightly clenched fists rested high up on his thighs, the right one bloody up to his wrist from holding the pressure on Raphael’s throat.

He muttered something in a voice too low for Izzy to hear without activating her enhanced hearing rune.

For a split second, she saw Raphael’s eyes widen in shock before his whole face shut down. There wasn’t an ounce of emotion in his expression as he stared at the top of Simon’s head. When he spoke, Raphael’s tone was clear, calm, and indisputable.

“Clean up this mess. When you’re done, get yourself a shirt from my closet – nothing Dolce – and wait for me by the elevator.” 

Isabelle was too stunned to move while Raphael got up as if nothing had happened. When he offered his hand, she took it reflexively and let him pull her to her feet. The way his eyes roamed over her was unnervingly reminiscent of the way he had looked at his jacket after Simon had torn a gash in it.

“You should heal yourself,” he said, “and take a shower. The bathroom is through there.”

She opened her mouth to say something, maybe even offer Raphael to join her. She’d give anything to break him out of this cold, clinical mood, but she found she couldn’t get a word out, so she just nodded and followed Raphael’s outstretched arm in the direction of the bathroom.

Her dress was bloody, but no worse for wear than a nasty demon fight could excuse. The worst part would be having to put it back on after her shower.

When she stepped back out of the bathroom, Simon was nowhere to be seen and there was no evidence left behind to suggest anything bad had happened. The floor was clean, the blood safe was once again hidden behind the large painting, and Simon’s bloody shirt had disappeared along with all the blood packs they’d gone through to save Raphael.

Raphael was sitting on the couch, dressed in a fresh three-piece suit. The recovering wound on his neck was obscured by a stylish cravat.

“Come here, Isabelle. Sit with me. We need to talk.”

The words struck like poisoned arrows. She knew he was going to break up with her. Not that they were in a relationship, but, all the same, she wouldn’t be allowed to see him again. He wouldn’t bite her ever again.

“Raphael, I’m so, so sorry.” She stumbled over her words in her haste to get to him, to stop him from what he was about to do. “I never should have used Simon like that. I promise this won’t ever happen again.”

She all but fell onto the couch next to him, relieved when he took both her hands in his own and smiled.

“I know, querida, I know.”

“Then you forgive me?”

Hope flared like a bubble of sunlight in her chest. It was short-lived when Raphael’s hands tightened uncomfortably, refusing to let her pull away. Something in Raphael’s eyes shifted, and she felt his Encanto take hold.

With her hands trapped inside Raphael’s, she had no chance to activate her protection rune. She couldn’t even carve a reminder into her skin. There was nothing she could do as his persuasion powers flowed through her mind, carrying away her memories like a river washing toward the sea. Worst was the shame of knowing that a part of her welcomed the promise of blissful ignorance.

“Simon was never here. After you finished your conversation with the warlock, it was just you and me in that alley. I took you home and we spent a pleasant evening. In fact, we went to play bingo with my little sister, Rosa, at the retirement home. We had a great time, and then we came back here. I took care of you, things got a little messy, so now you’re going to take a nap on the couch to get your energy back before you go home. You’ll have to make up a story if anyone asks about the blood on your dress.”

Raphael hated himself for every word that came out of his mouth, but this was the only way to protect all of them. He held on to Isabelle’s hands until she started to yawn.

“I’m exhausted,” she murmured, half falling over into his arms. “Is it okay if I…”

“Of course,” he reassured her, getting up to make room for her to lie down. “Sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

He kissed her forehead, making himself feel worse because of how much the gesture reminded him of a time long gone. He couldn’t even bare to look at her before he stepped away from the couch.

Simon was waiting for him at the elevator, cleaned up and vibrating with anxiety. He had picked a plain black cotton t-shirt from Raphael’s dresser – a wise choice. It would make things easier when they got back to the boathouse.

“Let’s go.”

They didn’t speak a word on the way to the docks where the werewolves kept their den inside a shabby Chinese restaurant. By the time they stood in front of the boathouse at the water line, Simon’s hands were trembling so badly he had trouble opening the padlock that secured the sliding door.

Raphael lost his patience. He grabbed the padlock, trapping Simon’s shaking hand in the process, and yanked. The steel snapped with a satisfying crack. Raphael shoved the door open and made a sweeping gesture into the darkness beyond.

“After you.”

When Simon failed to move quickly enough, Raphael pushed him forward with a heavy hand between his shoulders. He followed the baby vampire inside and closed the door, not bothering to turn on the light. Neither of them needed it to see clearly.

Still, Simon stumbled over his own feet and nearly ran face first into one of the loadbearing beams that held up the whole construction before he caught himself and turned around to lean against the narrow pillar.

“I’m so sorry, Raphael. I swear, I never meant to hurt you or Izzy. I deserve everything you’re gonna do to me, I know, I deserve it, I just … Don’t tell Clary. Please. I know I have no right to ask, but, please, I don’t want her to remember me as a monster. Just tell her I accidentally walked into the sun or, or I fell over my own feet straight onto a stake. Anything, just please don’t tell her the truth. For her sake, not mine. I think she’d find a way to blame herself, and this is all on me, so please--”

“Shut up.”

“Of course. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Just, please?”

Raphael closed the distance between them at vampire speed, fist raised an inch away from punching Simon square in that fool mouth of his. Simon had turned his head, expecting the blow with his eyes squeezed shut and his face contorted.

“I’m not going to kill you, fool.”

Even though a small part of Raphael wanted to get rid of Simon desperately enough that he had considered the thought. For a moment, when Simon had all but begged him for it in a voice too low for anyone but vampires to hear, sitting in a puddle of blood on the penthouse floor, Raphael had considered it. 

Then he had remembered his personal history and it had no longer been an option. Despite the unwelcome feelings Simon had unwittingly evoked, despite the fact that he was very likely to cause even bigger problems in the future, Raphael had discarded the thought of killing Simon as quickly as the boy’s ruined shirt. 

Raphael unclenched his fist and tapped Simon on the cheek. “Look at me.”

Simon complied with the foolish courage Raphael was quickly becoming all too familiar with. 

“I’m not going to kill you,” he said again. “What happened tonight was a mistake. It was bad, but it wasn’t all on you.”

“Oh, really?” Simon’s voice cracked. His eyes flitted nervously back and forth and he suppressed a nervous giggle. “Because last I checked, I was the one who snacked on Isabelle first and then forced myself on you like some rapey frat bro.”

“You…” Raphael choked on the laugh that bubbled up his throat. He turned his head and sucked in a deep breath through his nose, struggling for control.

When he looked back up, he could see the confusion, frustration, and shame written all over Simon’s face. The boy didn’t have an ounce of guile in him. 

It would be so easy to unload his guilt and let Simon take the blame for everything. He could pretend none of it was his fault, but Raphael had never been one to deny his sins.

“You did not force yourself on me.” He looked Simon straight in the eyes. “There is plenty of blame to go around, but that…” Raphael remembered the firm pressure of Simon’s lips, the way every part of him had lit up from the inside, the way he had been willing to burn in hell for it. “I wanted it.” 

Holy Mary forgive him, he still wanted it.

“Really?” Simon sounded baffled. “Yeah, right. Totally. What with my next level nerdiness, constant verbal diarrhea, and failed garage band lack of fame, of course, I’m like catnip to the Dolce-wearing, smooth-talking, vampire Don Juan.”

Raphael gritted his teeth with a snarl. “Your relentless self-doubt is exasperating.”

“Well, I just find it a little hard to believe that anyone who goes for Isabelle Lightwood would go for—”

This time, Raphael hadn’t given Simon time to flinch. 

He still tasted like Shadowhunter blood, but it was very subtle now, drowned out by the sharp flavor of icy mint. Simon’s lips barely moved, and his body was rigid where Raphael’s hand pressed against the center of his unmoving chest.

Raphael pulled back. He saw the same frozen expression that had been on Simon’s face when he had tried to kiss him before. The oily trail of shame started to crawl down the back of Raphael’s neck.

“I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s okay,” Simon responded automatically. “I mean, it’s not okay because I have a girlfriend, but it’s okay because I’m not offended or anything, so it’s not okay, but it’s okay. Does that make sense?”

“Strangely enough, yes, it does.”

Raphael did not want to think about the implications behind the fact that he was learning how to follow Simon’s prone-to-derail train of thought.

“Wow,” Simon breathed.

Raphael tried to resist, but the single syllable sat like an unreachable itch between his shoulders, making him squirm.

“What?” he said, knowing he would regret asking.

“You want me.” Simon sounded stunned. “You think I’m hot.” He chuckled. “I’ve got you thirsty.”

Raphael scowled. “Are you done?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m done.” Simon’s grin faltered. “Sorry. Just, it’s kind of heady, you know, being first choice. Then again, you’re probably used to it, so you wouldn’t know.”

Raphael scoffed. Simon had no idea how wrong he was, but Raphael was in no mood to divulge any more than he already had.

“Wait.” Simon’s eyes suddenly went very wide. “Is this a vampire thing? Are we like supernaturally sexy, and it’s really strong in newborn vamps, and that’s why Clary is now my girlfriend? Please, tell me that’s not what it is.”

“Again, with the self-doubt,” Raphael grumbled, adding a couple choice expressions in his native tongue to emphasize the point. “It’s not a vampire thing.”

“Okay. Good.” Simon breathed a sigh of relief. Then he swallowed, making his Adam’s apple jump on his pale neck. “What about the other thing?”

Raphael sighed. He had planned to bring Simon back to the boathouse and wipe his mind, not play twenty questions while they stood far too close, all alone in a dark, private space.

Simon was undeterred. “You know, the thing you do with your voice?”

Raphael froze. “The Encanto.”

Was it possible that Simon knew what he was planning? Was he just stalling for time?

“No, not that. The other thing.”

Raphael had no idea what Simon was talking about. “What other thing?”

Simon averted his gaze, and Raphael could trace the path of borrowed blood as it rushed up through the tiny vessels in Simon’s face and suffused his cheeks.

“You know,” Simon said, squirming against the pillar at his back, “the thing where sometimes you say something, and it feels like your voice reaches down my pants and cups around … things and strokes … other things.”

Raphael blinked. He snapped his teeth together and willed himself to not lapse into nervous laughter.

The mental image should have repulsed him. Simon couldn’t even say the words, instead succumbing to abject embarrassment. Yet, when Raphael thought about his hand reaching down the front of Simon’s faded blue jeans, what he felt wasn’t disgust. 

“No,” he said, surprised to find his tone was low and steady. “I’m afraid that’s just your reaction to my voice.”

“Oh.” Simon looked like the proverbial deer caught in headlights. “Okay. Let’s forget I said anything.”

Raphael smiled. Unfortunately, he didn’t have the luxury to forget this entire night had ever happened. On the other hand, he could at least make sure he was the only one who remembered. 

“No problem,” he purred. “Just look at me. Listen to my voice.”

“Oh, come on, Raphael that’s not fair. I just said … I …” Simon’s voice trailed off as he fell under the effect of the Encanto.

“You followed Isabelle Lightwood into the alley and saw her talking to a warlock. She was squeezing him for information on a case. Nothing out of the ordinary--”

“Wait.”

It wasn’t Simon’s voice that stopped him; it was the fist that clenched around his shirt and pulled him closer. Simon’s eyes were two black holes in the gray space of the dark boathouse.

“If you’re really going to make me forget everything,” he said softly, “at least make it worth your while.”

Simon’s stare was fixated on Raphael’s neck where the wound Simon’s fangs had torn was still healing, hidden behind a layer of Italian silk.

Raphael stood perfectly still and narrowed his eyes. “What are you saying?”

Simon’s fist tightened around his shirt. He deliberately tugged on it, pulling Raphael so close their lips nearly touched.

“I’m saying, take it.”

“What are y—”

Their lips crashed together and Simon’s tongue pushed into his mouth. That damning light flared up inside him, and if Raphael could stop the universe from spinning and force it to a halt at this precise moment, he would do it.

Simon pulled back just far enough to whisper in his ear, “Take it, and then make me forget.”

It would be selfish and wrong. He was absolutely certain that Simon would never do this if not for the fact that he had nearly killed Raphael in a blind feeding frenzy; he would never offer himself if he didn’t feel indebted to Raphael.

“You don’t owe me anything.” 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!”

Careless fingers snagged his hair, the world spun, and Raphael’s back crashed into the pillar. Simon was flush up against him, hip to hip, one hard thigh pushed between Raphael’s legs, kissing him like he was trying to steal his soul.

It was too much and not enough. Raphael gave up and let instinct take over. It was easy to grab Simon’s hips, pull him close, and spin them back around. Simon’s hands were everywhere: in his hair, around his shoulders, on his ass; they pressed against each other so tightly a sheet of paper couldn’t fit between them. 

Raphael had never felt like this before, had never understood why other people acted like fools and spent hours behind locked bedroom doors whenever they found a willing partner. Now, he was beginning to get the picture.

The want was almost as strong as the hunger for blood. It was a volatile thing that made him ache to devour the body in front of him. He wanted to lick, suck, and bite that pliable mouth, to gorge himself on the taste. Simon’s tongue between his lips only added fuel to the fire, sparking a flash behind his eyes and deep in his core.

Every thrust of their hips wrung noises of agony from his throat, but the sensations driving through his body were anything but. He wanted this more badly than he wanted to walk in sunlight unharmed.

A part of him recognized he was getting close, but this feeling was stronger than it had ever been when he had to take care of an inconvenient erection. This was more like being under water, striving toward the surface for fresh air.

Raphael shivered under the hands that trailed down his back and drew him impossibly closer just before Simon broke away from his lips and breathed a broken gasp against his shoulder, hips jerking hard and fast as he went over the edge. 

Not far behind, Raphael couldn’t hear the words that rattled uncontrolled from his mouth as he tumbled after him.

For a moment, heaven and hell lost their meaning. 

When the world righted itself again, Raphael’s face was buried in the crook of Simon’s neck. He could smell almond and lemongrass, Shadowhunter blood, and something else underneath, vibrant and distinct, like too many words in a sentence and a nervous smile flashing crooked incisors.

Raphael squeezed his eyes shut and pulled away, trying not to think about the sticky mess in the front of his slacks.

When he met Simon’s eyes, they were guarded and staring off into the distance somewhere in the gray. Raphael didn’t blame him. Unfortunately, the Encanto wouldn’t work unless Simon was looking him in the eyes.

Raphael placed his hand on Simon’s cheek. Simon didn’t move away when he gently touched their foreheads together.

“Look at me,” he said quietly. “Please.” 

Simon slowly dragged his gaze to meet Raphael’s with less than an inch between them.

Raphael licked his lips. His throat was suddenly dry and the tension behind his eyes was making it difficult to keep them open.

“You followed Isabelle down the alley. She squeezed some warlock for information. Nothing out of the ordinary happened.” His voice cracked. He cleared his throat and soldiered on. “You walked through the city alone for a while, got tired, and came back here to crash. You pretty much passed out as soon as you got in. You didn’t even take off your clothes.”

The Encanto had fully taken hold. Raphael saw the moment Simon’s eyes glazed over and went blank. His whole body relaxed and he would accept anything Raphael told him right now as the absolute truth, would even fill in the blanks if Raphael skipped over any details.

“You had a dream. The kind of dream where you wake up with a mess in your pants. You don’t remember much, but it was …” He cleared his throat again, not sure how to finish the sentence.

He didn’t dare to mention himself. Using Encanto on a vampire was trickier than with a Mundane or a Shadowhunter; Raphael couldn’t risk leaving any trace that would lead back to the original memory.

“It was the kind of thing you’d go to hell for and do it with a smile on your face.”

A gust of wind blew through the boathouse.

Simon shivered and banged his head on the support beam behind him. “Ouch.”

When had he climbed down from the canoe? He’d been dreaming about … He couldn’t really remember what it had been about, but it had been a really, really good dream. Simon pushed himself off the pillar, grinning.

Then he felt the sticky mess in his pants pull away from his skin and cringed.

The number one drawback to living in the boathouse was the lack of a proper bathroom. There was a sink, but it only had cold running water, and cold really meant frigid.

Simon gritted his teeth and resigned himself to the penance of an icy sponge bath in reparation for an amazing wet dream he couldn’t even remember.

Still, something told him it had been worth it.

Even as he shoved an ice-cold washcloth down his pants, he couldn’t help but smile.

The End.

**Author's Note:**

> For those of you who like soundtracks with their stories, this one grew a bit of a playlist while writing ...
> 
> In no particular order:
> 
> Of Monsters and Men – Alligator  
> St. Vincent – New York  
> The Smithereens – Blood and Roses  
> Keane – The Way I Feel  
> R.E.M. – The One I Love  
> Parker Lane (feat. Lucy Graves) – 3 A.M.  
> Eisblume – Fuer Immer (Yiruma – River Flows in You)  
> Phoebe Bridgers – Killer  
> Josh Ritter – Old Black Magic  
> Bailen – I Was Wrong  
> Brandi Carlisle – The Joke  
> Sara Bareilles – Fire  
> Feist – I Feel it All


End file.
